The incomplete.

It’s when the crowd is silent you can hear yourself think
and the room grows quiet and the crowd seems to shrink
that you realize how far you are from home
out in the cold all alone

When they turn their eyes to the distant hills
when they soon forget all your only thrills
when your glory days have faded out
and they forget you’re still here

You find it.

The golden streams and sunlit beams are in my head
and I can’t help think about the things I should have said
that you were my step, you were my beat
you were the incomplete…

Now I am the incomplete.







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